


Aziraphale Descending

by imnotokaywiththerunning



Series: What's a Bingo? [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blood, Bodily Harm, Gen, Good Omens Bingo 2021, Hurt No Comfort, pinioned wings, seriously there is no comfort here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29666070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotokaywiththerunning/pseuds/imnotokaywiththerunning
Summary: After the Serpent's successful tempting of Man, Aziraphale, Cherubim, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and Angel of the Flaming Sword, must face the consequences of his failure to keep Adam and Eve safe.
Series: What's a Bingo? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2176467
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021





	Aziraphale Descending

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third prompt fill for the Good Omens Bingo 2021. The prompt was "Heaven."
> 
> Please heed the tags. This fic goes hard on the hurt and gets pretty dark.
> 
> Special thanks to Fae_Fiction for the beta and encouragement.

Aziraphale walked steadily into the arena with Michael and Uriel on either side and Sandalphon at his back. If pride were not a sin, he might have felt proud of the fact that they thought three Archangels were needed to escort him to his trial. Especially as his nerves were so busy jumping from wingtip to wingtip with every step.

Aziraphale had known this was coming. Known since he had helped Eve cross the rubble of the Wall of Eden. Before that really. When God had asked Adam why he had fashioned clothes for himself out of fig leaves he had felt a cold spike of dread crawl down his back. He had failed in his duty to protect the inhabitants of the Garden from the Adversary. And now, here was his punishment. 

Gabriel stood in the centre of the arena on a raised platform. His head was bowed in prayer as it always was before such events. All around the edges of the arena the entire Hosts of Heaven were gathered in silent awe. The only sounds were the quiet rustling of feathers and the slight echo of footsteps as Aziraphale was marched to the centre. 

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said warmly, looking up as the foursome joined him on the dais. His whole face was curved in a smile, but his purple eyes shone with a Divine fire that sent Aziraphale stumbling back into Sandalphon. Gabriel stepped up to Aziraphale and grasped him firmly by the shoulders. “I’m so glad you could come, Brother.”

“Of-of course,” Aziraphale stammered nervously. It wasn’t like he had had a choice in the matter, but Gabriel liked to be liked. And this was just another part of the ritual trials that had sprung up after the Fall. 

Gabriel turned from him to address the Host with a grand sweep of his arms. “Aziraphale, Cherubim, Guardian of the Eastern Gate and Angel of the Flaming Sword,” he paused.” Your duty was to guard the Tree of Knowledge within the Garden of Eden, was it not?”

Gabriel had not spoken this to him but to the silent audience. Michael pinched Aziraphale’s arm when he was slow to answer. “It was,” he said quickly. “It is.”

“ _Was,_ ” Gabriel said sharply, glaring back at Aziraphale momentarily. He smiled again at the Heavenly Host, asking conversationally, “Were you successful in guarding the Tree of Knowledge?”

“No,” Aziraphale answered, drawing himself to his full height. There was no use denying it. That was why they were all here after all. To see his punishment for his failure to protect Man from the Serpent. It was the same for every angel who failed to follow orders, at least now after the War of the Revolting Angels and the Great Fall. Order was kept in an iron fist- Gabriel’s iron fist with the other Archangels his clawing fingers. 

“No,” Gabriel growled barely loud enough to be heard. “You weren’t.”

Aziraphale flinched. Something dangerous was bubbling just beneath Gabriel’s words. Something he did not want to think about. His vessel’s heart began to beat frantically in his chest trying to warn him of danger. 

Gabriel began to pace the length of the dais, his footsteps a solemn death beat. “Your failure,” he said, raising his voice once more to the Hosts, “resulted in a Fall-- the Fall of Man. Man was made in _our Mother’s_ image.”

At this Gabriel stopped at the dais’ centre and finally turned to address Aziraphale directly. “The last time a Fall occurred we were unfortunate to lose many of our brothers and sisters from our number. But I bring you good news, Aziraphale,” he said with a broad smile, closing the distance between them. “Today will not see a brother lost to us today.”

Aziraphale smiled nervously. He had never really considered the possibility that he might Fall. He could still feel the Almighty’s Grace flowing through him, reminding him of Her Love. Surely if he were destined to Fall he would have felt Her Grace fading. Aziraphale had made peace with the fact of his punishment, had thought he could take any punishment, but the loss of his Grace was nearly unthinkable. 

“A price must still be paid for failure, Brother,” Gabriel said, drawing Aziraphale’s mind back into the arena. His eyes shone a fiery purple. “Do you accept your punishment, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale glanced around at the impassive faces surrounding him. There was no clue what exactly his punishment would be. But he had no choice. He had to accept whatever punishment Gabriel deemed necessary. He bowed his head. “I do.”

“Then bring forth your wings.”

He jerked his head back up. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Your wings, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said with calm patience, “bring them out. _Now._ ”

Bewildered and cautious, Aziraphale hesitantly released his wings. He felt Sandalphon step back to avoid a face full of feathers. Aziraphale sighed as his two sets of wings sprouted from his back. His wings had been hidden inside his vessel since he had been sent to the Garden of Eden. Despite the reason for it, it felt nice to feel the full weight of his wings again. 

Gabriel smiled toothily. “Knell, Aziraphale.”

Before he was finished speaking, Aziraphale was pushed to his knees. He let out a cry as his knees made contact with the unforgiving ground. He glared at Uriel and Michael, who still had a firm hold of his arms from where they had shoved him to the ground. They hadn’t even given him time to get down on his knees himself. He was beginning to believe that his punishment was going to be anything but normal. 

“Clamp his wings.”

Four points of white-hot pain radiated from the joints of each of his wings. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder to see that Sandalphon had placed a large spiked clamp through each of his wing joints and was tying those clamps to rings that had sprouted up from the dais. He pulled at his wings in reflex and cried out in pain as the spikes dug deeper into his flesh. Uriel and Michael were still holding fast to his arms. He could not move.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale gasped, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice and failing. The usual punishment for an angel disobeying orders was flogging. He knew this, but this wasn’t usually how they went about it. “Brother, what is this?”

Gabriel pulled a large knife made of celestial steel from within his robes. Aziraphale’s heart beat impossibly faster as he glanced from the blade to Gabriel’s impassive face. _Surely not…_

“Aziraphale, Cherubim, Guardian of the Eastern Gate and Angel of the Flaming Sword,” Gabriel proclaimed. “For your failure to protect the Tree of Knowledge and for your _direct_ part in causing the Fall of Man, you are hereby being demoted.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Demoted? Gabriel, what does that mean?”

Gabriel smiled at him once again, this time filled with pity. “It means, Aziraphale, that you will no longer be a cherub. It means,” he said, turning the celestial blade so that it shone fully in the light, “that you’ll no longer need two sets of wings.”

A wave of horror washed over Aziraphale. Uriel and Michael held his arms even tighter, but it made no difference, he was numb. He couldn’t move even if he wanted. He looked helplessly up into Gabriel’s eyes. 

“Gabriel, please,” he rasped. “Please, Brother. Surely there is another way.”

Gabriel glanced away and then knelt in front of Aziraphale. Aziraphale flinched as Gabriel raised his hand to cup his cheek gently. His thumb slowly wiped at Aziraphale’s tears. “Aziraphale,” he said gently, “this is a mercy.”

Hands gripped one of his wings and pulled. Aziraphale began to truly struggle. No angel-- not even Morningstar-- had ever been pinioned before. Just the thought of it was enough to make an angel’s blood run cold. 

“No! No, please!” Aziraphale shouted, trying to escape the bruising grip on his arms. If only he could reason with Gabriel this could stop. His wing was pulled even tighter and he cried out from the strain. “Gabriel, please! This is madness! You can’t do this, please!”

The first cut was agonizingly slow. Aziraphale screamed. Gabriel sawed at the joint connecting Aziraphale’s wing to his back. Someone-- Sandalphon-- pulled at his wing, tearing away the tendons missed by the knife. The pain was uncontrollable. It rushed through both his mortal vessel and his true ethereal being like a flood. 

A sharp crack sounded throughout the unnaturally quiet arena followed by a dull thud as a wing was thrown on the ground. Aziraphale saw the white feathers stained golden with his blood. He would have collapsed if not for Uriel and Michael holding him up. The pain was less sharp now that Gabriel wasn’t actively sawing at his wing, but the ache of his wings burned through him. Aziraphale tried to blink his eyes clear of tears. Sandalphon grabbed his other wing before he had time to recover and the knife fell to work again. 

This time Aziraphale was ready for it. He closed his eyes against the pain, trying to stifle his screams. His throat felt raw, whimpers tearing through it like glass. Gabriel was quicker with the second wing. He had found the rhythm needed to saw effortlessly through his wing joint. That or Azirapahle had briefly lost consciousness. The next thing he knew, Michael and Uriel were pulling him up from his knees to make him stand. His eyes fixed on his two wings bleeding golden before him. 

His legs refused to work from shock or blood loss or perhaps, he thought deliriously, from the deep aching grief that filled his chest that his brothers and sisters would do such a thing. With a scoff of disgust, Michael and Uriel gripped his arms to cruelly suspend him between them.

“Behold!” Gabriel shouted with a sweeping gesture back towards Aziraphale. “Aziraphale, Principality of Earth!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought about this fic. Please leave a comment if you feel so inclined. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr under the same username as here and on Discord as artemis#1801. Come say hi! Or yell at me. Up to you.


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